Small Steps to Victory
by jareya
Summary: After a difficult case is finally resolved, Beckett spends a quiet evening with her father, discussing personal and professional challenges. 'Past fic' set in 2007.
1. Study Group Six Killer Convicted

_Disclaimer_: I don't own 'Castle' – I just get to sit back, relax and fall in love with it over and over again.

_A/N_: I'm really not sure why this particular story, which is far from the fun and fluff I usually like to write (and read), came to me so soon after the amazing start to Season 6… but anyway, this one is set back in 2007. The first chapter is a news story about a murder that was solved by Beckett and her team back in 2006. The rest of the story will be told in regular chapters.

* * *

'**Study Group Six' Killer Convicted**

_By Jane Gregg_

Today was an eventful and emotional day for six middle-class New York families, as jurors in a State Court convicted Brooklyn native Ted Waters, 28, of six counts of first-degree murder. It was the end of a painful three-year journey for the families of the six teenagers murdered by Waters, and the end of one of the most disturbing and highly publicized murder cases that New York has seen in recent years.

Back in September 2004, the murders of six Lower East Side teens, in what first appeared to be a suicide pact, shook New York to its core. At 11.40pm on September 17, New York police officers found Alana Matthews, 16, and her best friend, Darby Pearson, 15, lying dead in the bedroom of their classmate (and Alana's boyfriend), Jack Schroeder, 17; along with the bodies of their friends: Michael Sharma, 16; Jill Rosen, 15, and Crystal Eke, 16. All six teens had been shot in the head.

The six youths formed a study group that met regularly at one another's homes. Three of them were honor students, and the other three were also by all accounts hardworking and self-motivated teens. Despite having very different family backgrounds, personalities and interests – vivacious Eke was an accomplished young dancer, charming Sharma a budding scientist, and clever Pearson a math whiz; while shy Matthews was an anime aficionado, and Rosen was unanimously regarded as the fun-loving class clown – the friends were all well-liked at school.

Jack Schroeder, the athletic youngster who played host to the study group on that fateful day, was an only child, and his parents were out of town on a long-awaited second honeymoon trip to China. According to Jack's father, Rob Schroeder, 46, he and his wife Aline, 47, left their son home alone because they he had always been "a responsible, well-adjusted kid", who "knew how to handle himself in an emergency". "He had earned our trust," Aline disclosed in an emotional interview shortly after the deaths. Described by his friends and teachers at Chester High School as "a natural leader", "a great friend", "charismatic" and "a great role model", Jack Schroeder clearly had the trust and admiration of not only his parents, but everyone who knew him.

The bodies of the dead teens were discovered by police when Emily Rolle, a close friend of the Schroeder family, received an anonymous call from a blocked number, with a strange voice asking her to "check on Jack Schroeder". Thinking Jack was playing some kind of prank, Rolle repeatedly called his cell phone and home phone, only to grow increasingly worried when there was no response. She drove to the Schroeder home, and when no one answered the door, she called the police.

When their bodies were discovered later that night, Schroeder and his friends had each suffered a fatal shot to the head, and the murder weapon – a .45 caliber handgun registered in the name of Schroeder's father, and previously only used for Rob Schroeder's regular hunting trips to Seneca County with his son – was found in Eke's lifeless hand. Pillows had been used as crude silencers. The gun also bore the prints of each of the other five teenagers, creating the impression that on that tragic day, the study group had gathered, not to bone up on algebra and calculus, but to end their young lives.

* * *

Early investigations based on evidence taken from the crime scene tended to support the initial assumption of a suicide pact – an assumption that, while never formally voiced by the NYPD, was fuelled by rampant media speculation as well as several anonymous comments to the press from officers involved in the investigation.

When officers first arrived at the crime scene, Schroeder's bedroom was locked from the inside, and there were no signs of forced entry into the Schroeder home. Moderate to high levels of narcotics were found in the systems of all six victims, which suggested that they had consumed the drugs deliberately as some sort of final rite, perhaps to help them relax and to dull the pain of the act they planned to carry out. Strangely enough, no traces of the narcotics were found in the Schroeder home. After a comprehensive sweep of the premises, investigators found no clear evidence that an intruder had entered the Schroeder home on that day. Several of the victims' friends were interrogated, and several arrests made, but all the suspects were eventually cleared due to lack of evidence. Other leads suggested by anonymous calls to NYPD tip lines were investigated, but ultimately led nowhere.

Six months after the death of the 'Study Group Six', as they came to be known, he investigation seemed for all intents and purposes to be at a dead end. As time wore on and public speculation continued, Jack Schroeder's admirable leadership abilities formed the core of a sinister, sensationalist narrative – one that alleged that, using his powers of persuasion, Schroeder had led his five younger and more impressionable friends to their deaths. He was depicted in the press as a Svengali figure, who in a state of morbid depression and megalomania, had decided to take his girlfriend and classmates down with him. Much was made in the media of Jack's love for hunting, video games, hard-hitting mob movies and murder mystery novels. Expositions on the growing pressure placed on high school students to make good grades in preparation for college formed part of the growing suicide pact narrative, along with commentaries on the effects of violence in film, television and on the internet.

Rob and Aline Schroeder, in the midst of mourning their son under such shockingly devastating circumstances, kicked strongly against the suicide theory, insisting that their son "loved life", was not depressed, and had great plans for his future. It was simply unthinkable to the Schroeders that Jack would choose to end his life, and they certainly did not believe that he would ever encourage others to do the same. The Schroeders were supported by Maggie Matthews, the single mother of Alana Matthews; as well as the Rosen and Pearson families. They did not believe that their children had committed suicide either, and joined the Schroeders in demanding that the case continue to be investigated as a multiple homicide.

* * *

With no new leads and under intense pressure from the victims' families and friends, the NYPD expanded the original investigative team, bringing in a team of younger detectives from the NYPD's 12th Precinct, who quickly zoned in on the anonymous call to Emily Rolle. Unable to trace the call despite prolonged efforts, the initial team of investigators had concluded that Schroeder may have informed a friend of his group's plan to execute a suicide pact, and that the friend had made the call – tragically, too late for the teens to be saved.

The new investigative team, now headed by Detective Kate Beckett, refocused their efforts on tracing the call and reexamining all the initial evidence taken at the crime scene. Beckett led her team in carrying out a new set of interviews and interrogations of everyone connected with the victims. She also refocused attention on the victims' autopsy reports, which had initially yielded no solid signs of struggles or injuries to the youths on the day of their murder, other than their fatal wounds.

Beckett's strategy paid off when the renewed investigation led to the emergence of several pieces of new evidence. The reassessment of a tiny dent on the window frame of Schroeder's bedroom, initially ignored by crime scene investigators, birthed a new theory on the entry of the perpetrator. Facts relating to an altercation involving Jack Schroeder, Alana Matthews and an unidentified male at a neighborhood grocery store, just weeks prior to the murder, emerged from the new interviews.

The initial autopsy reports for Jack Schroeder and Crystal Eke had shown slight evidence of struggles before their deaths – evidence that had been previously discounted as pointing to nothing more than last-minute panic between the two in the course of carrying out the suicide pact. As the new investigative team pointed out, this explanation could not be true in the case of Eke, in whose hand the murder weapon was found. If the suicide pact theory was correct, she would have been the last to die, having delivered the final gunshot to her own head, and therefore if she'd had a change of heart or suffered from last-minute nerves, she could have fled the scene. There would be no reason for her to struggle with Schroeder or any of the other friends who died before her if they were all voluntarily playing out the suicide pact script - but she could have struggled with her killer. And finally, using new technology, more evidence emerged on the notorious anonymous call to Emily Rolle's phone. The phone from which the call was made had long been destroyed, but the location of the call was successfully traced to the Brooklyn neighborhood of Crown Heights.

Through sheer tenacity and attention to detail, Beckett and her team had blown the case wide open. These key clues soon resulted in the unearthing of more chilling information on the murders, and eventually led the team of crack detectives to the doorstep of Ted Waters, a reclusive but brilliant computer programmer who, according to testimony presented by the prosecution during his trial, had spent long hours researching how best to carry out his crime without being detected. Waters initially maintained his innocence, but after a series of interrogations led by Beckett, he calmly revealed the details of his brutal crime.

* * *

Waters planned his gruesome actions down to the tiniest detail, with deadly, mechanical accuracy. He hacked into the teens' computers and email accounts in order to keep tabs on their movements and living arrangements. He pinned down their routines. He watched Jack Schroeder shop for juice and soft drinks for that final study group session, and then snuck into the Schroeder home to replace cans of soda and energy drinks with identical items that he had carefully tampered with, heavily spiking the drinks with tranquilizers. After shooting the drugged teens, Waters carefully wiped down the scene, taking all the evidence, including the empty bottles, with him and destroying all of it – with the exception of one bottle kept as a 'souvenir' and detailed, heavily encoded logs kept in encrypted files on one of his many home computers. He made the call to Rolle, he would later confess, because he wanted his 'handiwork' to be viewed while still 'fresh'.

Waters' motive? Apparently, he spotted pretty Alana Matthews at a comic book convention several months before his crime, and developed an intense obsession. He stalked her until he was confronted and warned off by Jack Schroeder. In planning and executing the staged suicide, the prosecution alleged at his trial, Waters' motive was twofold – to strike back at the young couple, and to stage 'the ultimate crime'. He almost succeeded, but thanks to the persistence and hard work of the NYPD and the victims' families, he is expected to spend the rest of his life behind bars after his sentencing next week.

Detective Beckett was reticent when we spotted her at the back of the courtroom and approached her for an interview, simply stating that she and her team "were only doing their jobs", and that "the real heroes are the victims and their families." When asked how she managed to break down Waters in the interrogation room, Beckett's response was sober. "I appealed to his lack of humanity," she said. "Deep down, he wanted his crimes to be recognized. He had no remorse – in fact he was proud of the unspeakably evil things he did on that day. And in the end, that's why we were able to catch him."

Despite her initial abruptness, when we asked Detective Beckett whether she was glad that justice had now been served, her response was more forthcoming. "I think what's most important today is that the families finally have some closure. It's been a long, hard road for them to get here. This outcome doesn't take away their pain, and I don't think this is a day that anyone will remember with 'gladness', but at least they know that he will never have the opportunity to do anything like this again."

The tears of relief we saw in court today on the faces of those who loved the six young people cut down in their prime, bear witness to the tragic, poignant truth of Beckett's words.

* * *

_A/N_: There will be a couple more chapters, with Kate and her dad.


	2. Father - Daughter Dinner Date

Sitting across from his daughter at his dining table, Jim showed her the newspaper. He'd read the article at least twenty times since the paper arrived, and each time he did, he marveled at the woman that he and Johanna had raised. He was in awe of how much his little girl had achieved. "This piece was in yesterday's paper," he said, in his quiet manner. "I'm proud of you."

Kate sighed; shaking her head as she read the headline before turning the newspaper over and setting it back down on the table, as if trying to shut it out. "It was a harrowing case, Dad. Just when you think you've seen it all –"

Jim nodded. He worried about his daughter. She had been through so much, first with her mother's murder, then joining the police force and dealing with the countless challenges of her job, then his alcoholism, and then her obsession with solving Johanna's murder. He knew that Kate had tried to protect him from the worst of her struggles; that she'd tried hard to project the façade that all was well.

But he knew. Even back when he had his head stuck at the bottom of a bottle, Jim had known what losing Johanna had done to his only child. He'd known what _he_ was doing to her too when he hit the bottle, but for so long he'd felt powerless to change his self-destructive path. It was strange, but also life-affirming, he thought to himself, that it was _because_ of his drinking problem – and the fact that he had finally gotten help for it – that he had the pleasure of spending time with his daughter on this day. He recalled their telephone conversation earlier that day...

* * *

"Katie?"

"Dad – how are you doing?" Her tone was cheerful but brisk – she was working, as always.

"Good. I was just calling to remind you about our dinner date tonight."

A pause. Then, "Dad – we don't have dinner plans for tonight."

"Well, now we do. Katie, I haven't seen you in months. And before you remind me that we've talked on the phone plenty of times, it's not the same. I miss you. I wanted to take you to lunch on your birthday, but you were too busy. Then I asked you over for Thanksgiving, but you were working."

"And tonight I'm working too."

"You've got to take a break sometime. I'm sure your captain will let you leave at a decent hour for once."

"Dad, I wish I could, but –"

"Katie, please." Jim was not above begging when it came to his daughter.

A tense note crept into Kate's voice. "Dad – do you need me?"

Jim knew exactly what it meant – that note of tension, her choice of words; and he would always regret the time when he had caused his only daughter to live in fear because of him. Fear of a stranger calling to tell her that her father desperately needed her help again; fear of a call telling her that her only surviving parent was gravely ill, or injured, or dead as a result of his drinking.

Jim was never conscious of all the times Kate had shown up at his local bar to peel him off the counter and take him home, while he protested every inch of the way; or the times she'd walked into his home to find him lying in a pool of his own vomit, and cleaned him up to prevent him from choking; or even the times he'd called her to weep drunkenly, sob in wordless agony or rail angrily at her and the world.

But he remembered all too clearly the aftermath of each incident; the sense of shame and self-contempt when he came back to himself and found Kate there, with a potent mix of emotions warring in her tear-filled eyes – hurt, confusion, frustration, sadness, concern, anger, _love_. From Kate, above all there was always love, hard truths and offers to get him help; sometimes even demands, ultimatums, interventions orchestrated by her and his closest friends. He would respond with shamefaced, empty promises – promises that he'd meant with all his heart – but promises that, even as they left his lips, were already falling around his feet in broken pieces.

Until the day in November 2004 that he'd awoken in a hospital bed; in pain, disoriented and completely unaware of how he'd gotten there. The first thing he had felt was the wetness of his daughter's tears soaking through the thin cotton of his hospital gown as she begged him not to leave her, because she was losing him and she didn't know why. Through the sobs that racked her, and unaware that she could hear him, Kate had asked repeatedly what she had done wrong, what she could possibly do now to help him, to stop him from destroying what little they had left.

He had never seen Kate weep like that, so despairingly, so gut-wrenchingly, like her heart would just burst from her chest. As a child, she would furiously dash away the tears from her eyes when she was hurt. Even in those dark days in 1999, she would shut herself away in her room so that he wouldn't see the worst of her grief. For Jim Beckett, his first moment of consciousness in that hospital bed was one of the worst moments of his life – almost as bad as the day Johanna died.

Later, much later, he was told the story of how'd been roaming the streets; the respected, retired lawyer with his shirt hanging open and his pants down around his ankles in the winter chill, his wallet having been stolen without his knowledge; how he'd stumbled into a busy street in a drunken haze and been hit by a car; how he was lucky to be alive. _Rock bottom. _Kate had stayed with him through his long and painful recovery, and he'd finally allowed her to help him get the assistance he so desperately needed for his alcohol addiction. It had been a long and difficult process – it still was, every single day.

So now that he was standing on the other side of the chasm, taking each day as it came, he still couldn't recall those moments when he'd put that note of tension into his daughter's voice – back then, he'd been too far gone to know or care. But he knew it had all happened, and despite the burden of guilt he still carried – would always carry – he was incredibly thankful and humbled that after all she'd been through, Kate would still drop everything and run to him in a heartbeat if he needed her. Because she loved him. His Katie had boundless reserves of forgiveness, love and generosity. _Just like her mother._

"Dad?" she had repeated on the other end of the line, that note of tension growing even tauter. "Do you need me to come over?"

"No, Katie, I'm fine," he reassured her. "But since you didn't let me celebrate your birthday, or Thanksgiving, with you –"

"Dad," Kate sighed. "I'm sorry. It's the job."

"I know, but the thing is, there's something else I want to celebrate. Two things, in fact. Yesterday was the third anniversary of my last drink. And I became a sponsor last week."

"That's great, Dad." Kate's voice was warm. "I'm so proud of you."

"And it's worth celebrating, right?"

He could almost see her smile through the phone. "I'll be there at eight, Dad. Don't burn down the house before I get there."

* * *

She'd showed up at seven… pulling up on her motorbike, the machine that Jim still hated but had finally resigned himself to; and the first thing he'd noticed as she strode into the house was her hair.

Shorter, redder… shorter.

"Like it, Dad?" Kate queried with a smile, as she slipped off her leather jacket.

"When did you get it cut?"

"About a month ago." She sighed. "I just don't have the time to fuss with it in the mornings. This is so much easier – I can just wash, dry, shake it out and go." She shook it as if to demonstrate. "So – what do you think?"

"I think you always look beautiful, Katie."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Kate replied with a smirk. "Don't be diplomatic, Dad – tell me what you really think."

Jim paused, and smiled wistfully. "Whenever your mother asked me how she looked after a new haircut, I would practically break out in a cold sweat. I could never figure out what she wanted me to say, so I would just be quiet. Then she would do that eyebrow thing and say, 'Anytime this century, Beckett'."

They both laughed, the sound rising naturally between them and then dwindling into an awkward silence. Talking about her was still hard. She had been their rock, the one their lives revolved around, the center of their home, their world; and when they'd lost her, they'd been lost. They'd handled it very differently – Jim by plunging into alcohol, Kate by plunging into a new life as a police officer – but even now, eight long years later and despite all the progress they'd made; there was still a huge, gaping void that would never be filled.

Kate cleared her throat to break the silence, and even before she spoke, Jim could sense her determination to continue the conversation. She'd told him a year ago, with a studied casualness, that she was seeing a therapist, to "help her work through some issues". He had never seen a therapist, but his AA sponsor, Mike, often encouraged him to talk about Johanna with the people that knew and loved her, and he could only imagine that Kate had received the same advice.

"Then what would you say to Mom?" she asked.

"The same thing I just told you – that she was _always_ beautiful, no matter what she did with her hair."

Kate smiled. "That's sweet – and true. Now what are you attempting to cook? And how can I fix it?"

It was a running joke among the Becketts that despite his best efforts, Jim's culinary abilities were rudimentary at best. Even when he followed a recipe to the letter, nothing he cooked ever came out quite right.

"I might surprise you this time," Jim said as he led Kate to the kitchen. "I have a chicken roasting in the oven, and it looks pretty good."

Kate peered through the oven glass. "Well, you're right, Dad – it's absolutely perfect, if you're planning for us to have the chicken for breakfast tomorrow." She cranked up the heat setting on the oven. "What else have you got?"

He pointed to the simple salad of baby tomatoes, red onion and arugula sitting on the counter. "Well, at least I didn't screw that up."

Kate glanced at the salad. "Looks great. Now, all we need is some pasta. I'll make your favorite – the linguine with mushrooms. I was going to bring you a cake for dessert, but I still don't have a rack on my bike."

"That's okay – I have some ice cream in the fridge."

"Great, on to that pasta."

* * *

_A/N: One more chapter of father-daughter time to go. Thanks so much for your follows and reviews!_


	3. Catching Up

They had prepared the rest of the meal quickly and efficiently, and now Jim and Kate were seated at the table, enjoying their food and each other's company. A stranger watching them would perhaps have been bemused by the long silences between father and daughter, but Kate and Jim had never needed many words in order to communicate. Their silences were easy – companionable, warm and peaceful.

"The linguine is delicious, Katie," Jim observed.

Kate laughed. "Well, you did half the work – Mom always did call you her 'kitchen helper'."

"Thank you, but I prefer 'sous chef'," Jim joked.

Kate affected the air of a snooty head chef. "Well, sous chef, you make excellent roast chicken, and if you keep cooking like this, you just might have a future in this industry."

"I've been practicing," Jim replied with a smile. "I got tired of ordering in and heating up stuff that comes in cans and packets. Whenever I pick up a take-out menu or stick something in the microwave, I can just hear your mother telling me that there's nothing better than a home-cooked meal."

They laughed, but when Kate continued, her tone was sincere. "Seriously, Dad, you look great and I'm so glad you're taking care of yourself."

"I try." Jim shrugged. "How about you, Katie? Are you?"

Kate paused for a moment, considering her next words. "Taking care of myself? Maybe not as much as I should, but I'm trying. When I joined the academy, I know you had your doubts about whether it was the right path for me, but you respected my decision, and I love you for that. And maybe my reasons for joining up weren't ideal, but I think it's turned out well. I'm good at what I do, Dad, and it's a good fit for me."

She paused again, and Jim nodded, waiting patiently for her to continue. "Dad, I told you I was seeing a therapist last year, but I never really told you why."

Jim reached out and took her hand calmly. "I know why."

Kate's look of surprise only lasted a second. "I never could hide anything from you for long."

"It wasn't just you, Katie. We did it together at first, remember? I spurred you on. We pored over every letter, every diary entry, every photograph. We scrutinized everything she ever did, everyone she ever met, looking for clues. I only stopped because I started drinking so much that I couldn't focus on anything anymore. And the sheer, depressing futility of that search was one of the things that fueled my drinking. It took over our lives."

Kate nodded. "It did. And letting that go, calling off my hunt for Mom's killer, was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"But it had to be done," Jim said reassuringly, "and I'm so proud of you for realizing that. It was a weight pulling you down, just like my drinking was to me, and you figured that out and got help on your own. You're stronger than I ever was."

Kate squeezed her father's hand. "I don't know about that, Dad. Captain Montgomery helped – without his support, I don't know if I could have done it. He was firm, but so understanding."

"I owe him a debt of gratitude for that," Jim said. He shook his head sadly. "Sometimes I think he's been more of a father to you than I have."

"Don't ever say that," Kate replied sternly. "Roy is a great mentor, but you're my _dad_, and no one could ever replace you. When I need my dad, I know who to turn to, and it's not Captain Montgomery. It's you and me now. Two Becketts against the world."

Jim's laughter was tinged with sadness. "Watch out, world. James Beckett may have struck out, but Katherine Beckett is at the mound – and she's in great form."

Kate rolled her eyes. "There you go with the baseball metaphors. And you have _not_ struck out – you're way too skilled for that." She leaned towards him. "Oh, by the way, did you watch the game yesterday? What the hell happened to Jeter?"

* * *

And so baseball, their mutual love, consumed the conversation for the rest of their dinner and kitchen clean-up duties, until the pair were seated on Jim's couch, drinking coffee and watching the news.

"So what are you reading these days, Katie? Still a Richard Castle fan?" Jim asked, after another comfortable silence.

Kate shrugged. "Yeah – his most recent stuff hasn't been amazing, but the thing is, even when he's not at the top of his game, he's still pretty good. I just read his latest Derrick Storm book – I liked it, but it felt a little… uninspired, and Storm's arrogant shtick is starting to grate on my nerves. Maybe Castle needs a new hero."

Jim smiled. "Or a new heroine. I love a feisty female protagonist."

"Well, he does have Clara Strike," Kate conceded, "but she's a little too slick. She's this super-capable CIA agent – she knows everything even before it happens. It's kinda hard to relate to her."

"Well, when Castle comes up with a female character that manages to be both heroic and human, let me know, and then maybe I'll finally find out why your mom and you fell in love with his books. Until then, I think I'll stick with my James Joyce."

"Well, you can't go wrong with the classics," Kate acknowledged.

"How are your friends – Lanie, Javier, Kevin?" Jim asked.

"The boys are doing great; they're a handful as always, but I manage to keep them in line," Kate laughed. "Lanie is _Lanie_ – she's constantly on my back trying to get me to go out, have more of a social life."

"Does she succeed?"

"Sometimes – when I can get away from the precinct. And sometimes, she doesn't give me that much of a choice – she just drives over and yanks me out of there. She's very… persistent. And fun – I love hanging out with her."

"Seeing anyone special?"

Kate sighed and rolled her eyes. "_Dad!_"

"What? I had to ask. We're just catching up, Katie… it's been a while since we've had a really good talk." Jim shrugged innocently.

"Dad, if and when there's anyone serious," Kate said patiently, "you'll be the first to know. I told you about Will, didn't I? As soon as I knew it was serious, I brought him right over here to meet you."

"You did," Jim nodded. "You still hear from the son of a bitch?"

"Whoa, Dad!" Kate exclaimed, taken aback. Mild-mannered Jim Beckett rarely spoke about anyone in such strong terms. "I thought you liked Will."

"I liked that you seemed happier around him. I liked that you had someone special in your life. But now that you're not together anymore, I'll say this – he was a nice enough guy, at least at first, but he wasn't right for you. Katie, your job is hard, demanding, and dark; and in some ways you're like me, you try to hold it all in. You need someone to draw it out of you, make you laugh, shine a light on all the things you carry inside. You need someone to bring out that part of you that's fun, light-hearted, and mischievous – the part of you that comes from your mother."

Kate was still stunned. "I had no idea you felt that way about Will."

"Like I said, you were happy with him, and seeing you smile and laugh with him was more than enough for me. And it was your choice. You've always had a mind of your own, and I respect that."

"Thanks, but Will was a decent guy, Dad – it just didn't work out between us."

"It didn't work out because he upped and left as soon as a better job came calling – as if a job was worth more than being with you."

"To be fair, he did ask me to go with him."

"And you didn't, because you knew the relationship wasn't worth risking your career for. And here's the thing – when you weren't ready to uproot your life for him, he just… moved on. He chose the job over you without stopping to think twice. He didn't even try to make it work, and that tells me that he didn't recognize the value of what he had with you."

"Yeah, well, it takes two, Dad. I wasn't exactly offering to make it work either." She paused. "Maybe you're right – maybe what we had just wasn't strong enough."

Kate was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. "Still, sometimes I really, really wish he hadn't left, Dad. I miss him. We had really good times together, good talks. We had a good friendship."

"You deserve so much more than a good friendship and good times, Katie. You can get that from Lanie and your other friends. The only thing your other friends can't give you is good sex, and I may be from another generation, but we both know that's not exactly hard to find either."

Kate blushed furiously and ducked her head. As close as they were, she had never been able to talk about sex with her father. "_Dad!_"

Jim ignored her embarrassment. "My point is, 'good' isn't good enough. You deserve more than that. You deserve to be happy; to know true, unconditional love. You deserve a true partner; someone who'll be in your corner no matter what, someone you can trust to stick with you through everything. You have the most giving heart, Katie; and deep down, maybe what you really want is someone you can trust it with."

Jim had more to say, but he held back the words – _I know I failed you, Katie. I couldn't be there for you when you needed me the most. But someday soon, someone will come along who will be worthy of your trust, who won't let you down. And if you don't take that chance when he shows up, you'll miss out on something truly fulfilling._ He knew those unspoken words to be true, but he also knew that Kate wasn't ready to hear them from him – she would dismiss them as the counsel of a father over-burdened by guilt. And while he did carry guilt where Kate was concerned, that wasn't where the words would come from. They would come from hard-earned experience.

Silence reigned again between father and child. Kate was deep in thought – her head bent, red hair veiling her green eyes. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, the words were slow, measured. She started by repeating her father's last phrase. "_Someone I can trust my heart with._ I know that's what you and Mom had – but when you lost her, it almost destroyed you. I saw it happen. And every day I see people who are going through the very same thing – their lives just ripped apart by some 'random' act of violence. I don't know if I could risk going through that again. Not after losing Mom."

Jim felt tears sting the back of his eyes. "I would give anything to have one more moment with Johanna. You know that, Katie. But the other side of that coin is that I would not trade a second I spent with her for the world – not even if I'd known how it would all end. Even if I'd known, I would still have loved her with all my heart for the time we had. Life is precious, Katie. You can live it to the full, or you can hold back... and have regrets."

Quietness fell upon the pair again, both staring unseeingly at the TV, each lost in thought.

* * *

_A/N_: This got a bit long – so there'll be one more chapter. Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting! And have a great weekend.


	4. Small Steps to Victory

After a while, Kate spoke up again. "So, Dad, how about you? Seeing anyone special?"

Jim was taken aback – this was one question he had not seen coming tonight, and it took him a moment to respond. "Uh, no… no, Katie. I'm not ready for that. Nowhere near ready. I don't think I ever will be."

"It's been eight years, Dad," Kate said softly.

"I know – but sometimes it feels more like eight minutes."

"Or less." Katie confessed. She knew the feeling well.

"I've loved your mother for most of my life," Jim said. "And I love her just as much today as I did when we first met. I know without a doubt that I will love her until the day I die. I can't imagine anyone taking her place."

"No one ever could," Kate agreed, "but if you meet someone else and feel something for her, then you should follow your heart. Mom would want that for you – she would want you to be happy."

"And how would you feel about it?" Jim was curious.

"I'm not going to lie," Kate said slowly, "it would be… weird seeing you with another woman. But as long as you were happy with her, that's all that would matter to me. I know you're a loner, Dad, but you always loved Mom's company."

"And yours."

Kate smiled. "Likewise. But I don't get to see you as much as I would like to. I don't want you to be lonely, Dad, and I want you to know that – whenever you're ready – if you ever want to try to find companionship, someone to share your life with, I'm all for it. You don't need my blessing, but you have it anyway."

Jim was moved. "That's good to know, Katie. I honestly don't think it'll ever happen, though." He smiled to himself as he observed the small sigh of relief that lowered his daughter's shoulders and relaxed her face. Despite her brave words, she really wasn't ready for him to move on to a new relationship either, and seeing that truth unconsciously displayed in her features, her posture, made her words even more poignant.

"Thank you, Katie," Jim said.

"You've always been in my corner, Dad. And I'm always in yours – no matter what."

"I know," Jim nodded. He knew better than anyone else just how far his daughter could go for love, and he only hoped that one day she would give that love to someone who would be worthy of it; someone who would return it with the same wholeheartedness.

* * *

Kate looked at her watch – Jim's watch – and said, "It's late, Dad. I should go, let you get some sleep."

Jim shook his head vehemently. "I'll take you home. If you get on that bike this late at night and ride all the way back to your apartment, I won't be able to get a wink of sleep until I know you're home safe."

Kate looked away, a wry smile playing upon her lips, and Jim read her expression instantly. "Yes, I know," he said. "I know you get into much more dangerous situations everyday – situations I don't know about; don't _want _to know about. But you're on my turf tonight, so humor an old man."

"I know you worry about me at work, and all I can say is that I have a great team, and we watch each other's backs," Kate assured her father. She smiled at him fondly. "I meant what I said earlier, Dad. You've always supported me, even with my riskier decisions, and I appreciate that."

"How are things at work now?" Jim asked, and again, by virtue of their unspoken communication, Kate knew exactly what he was asking.

"You mean, now that I'm not spending every free minute looking into Mom's case?" she responded. She drew a deep breath. "It's… different. I just try to focus on each case, give it my all, take each day as it comes."

Kate reached out to touch her father's hand. "We may not have closure or justice for Mom," she said, "but if I can help other people get that for their loved ones, then it's worth it."

"It's more than worth it," Jim said. "Every time you solve a case, it's a victory, and your Mom would be so proud."

Kate sighed. "I don't know, Dad. Roy always says that in a homicide squad, there are no victories, only battles – and he's right. Even when we solve the case, catch the bad guy, it doesn't change the fact that a life was taken from the world; a living, breathing being that can't be replaced. Someone that was loved."

She paused for another deep breath, and then went on. "And just because I catch the bad guy, it doesn't mean he'll pay for his crime, or even that he won't do it again. Once we hand the criminal over to the justice system, a million things could go wrong. I've seen murderers walk away because of some dumb legal loophole – no offense, Dad."

"None taken," Jim replied. "I love the law, but it's far from perfect. Sometimes, as Dickens said, 'the law is an ass'."

Kate nodded. "That's why I had to be in court yesterday to see that creep Waters get what he had coming to him. That case… it was one of the most intense ones I've ever worked, and it's good to know that he's going away for the rest of his life. But, Dad, six kids who just wanted to _study_ are still dead – and there's nothing I can do to change that."

"That's true," Jim agreed. "What happened yesterday doesn't change the horror of what happened to those kids. And it doesn't take away their loved ones' pain. Nothing can. But Katie, remember that Waters almost got away with it – until you and your team got on board. Until then, the parents of those kids knew that their children's murderer was still out there. They knew that whoever killed their children was somewhere in this world living freely; laughing, thinking they'd gotten away with it."

The look Jim and Kate shared was meaningful. They knew that painful, gnawing feeling; they lived with it every day – knowing that whoever had brutally stabbed Johanna Beckett, beloved wife and mother, was still somewhere out there, maybe even in the same city, comfortable in the knowledge that the investigation into Johanna's death was languishing, gathering dust in a file marked 'Unsolved'.

Jim had to clear his throat before going on. "And they had to live with that knowledge… until yesterday. Now they can go to sleep at night knowing the truth, knowing that justice has been served; that Waters won't get another chance to cause the kind of pain they're going through. Every day from now on, they'll wake up with that assurance. They'll finally be able to start healing, moving forward. And _you_ did that, Katie – you gave them that. For those families, that's a victory."

"Every day I wake up and look out of my window," Jim continued, "and I'm so thankful to be alive, to have gone one more day without a drink, to be able to wake up with a clear head and a healthy body. Because I came so close to losing it all_._ Call me sentimental, but every single morning, I consider that first waking moment a small victory."

"It is, Dad," Kate affirmed quickly.

"Well, if that's true, then every day you wake up and deny yourself the opportunity to look into your mother's case; every day you decide instead to go to work and immerse yourself – body and soul – into trying to find justice for someone else... if that's not a victory, I don't know what it is."

"This is why they say you should never argue with a lawyer. You make a great argument, counselor," Kate sighed. "But honestly, Dad… I like putting bad guys away, but it's not enough."

"You should give yourself more credit, Katie," Jim inserted quietly. "You done more than put away bad guys, you've saved lives. You've made our city safer. You've worked harder, done more, than most of your peers – you graduated the academy at the top of your class, you're the youngest woman to make detective in the history of the NYPD, and you have the highest closure rate. Don't tell me you don't count all those achievements as victories."

She shook her head, searching for the right words. "I'm not saying I haven't done some good – just that I feel there's _more_ out there. Maybe it's because Mom's case is still unsolved, but it just feels like I've only just scratched the surface."

"I honestly don't know what I would consider a victory," she continued slowly. "But I know I haven't achieved it yet – it's still out there. Maybe one day I'll find it. Until then –"

Jim shook his head at his stubborn, beautiful, driven daughter. He might be the lawyer of the two, but he knew better than to keep arguing with her. He had said more than enough for one evening, and he could only hope that she was listening. As Johanna had often said to him, usually when he complained about one of her loser boyfriends: _Jim, our job as parents is to raise our daughter the best we can, and give her good advice. But ultimately, she has to go out and learn from her own mistakes – while we go gray and worry ourselves to death. _

He smiled now as he remembered his wife's wise words and interrupted his daughter's determined ones. "_Until then_, Katie, every single day will be a small step toward victory. And we'll keep taking those steps together, you and me."

Kate smiled back, leaned towards her dad and hugged him tightly. "We will. I love you Dad. I'm so glad I came tonight."

"I love you too, Katie. Now grab your jacket, and let's see if we can fit that monstrosity you call a motorbike into the back of my truck."

* * *

_A/N_: And that's the end of this one. I really loved spending some quiet time with Jim and Kate, and I hope you did too. Thanks to everyone who joined me for this story.


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